Page 24 of Reckless Desire

My hand drops as if his words burned. And they do. They’ve scorched a hole in my stomach and the croissant is screaming its way out.

I think I blink a few times, but the situation doesn’t change or disappear.

“You are right, Dan. This is the worst timing.” My voice is bitter even to me. “We are both teachers and today is the beginning of the school year and you chose to mark it with such a significant decision? How dare you spring it on me like that? We have never discussed this before. I like things the way they are.”

I can’t look at him. Not because he caught me off guard, but because his stunned expression shows signs of hurt and I can’t cope with that. I’m overreacting. I’m not being fair here. And his face shows it all.

But how did he even get the idea? How do friends with benefits turn into a living together situation without a prior discussion?

I’m not ready to give up on my independence. I’m not ready to move in with him. I love having my own place. My place lost its wasteland of loneliness stamp after I started hooking up with Dan, so I have that to thank him for, but that’s what this has been. Convenient hookups.

How did I not see his head was somewhere else? Our relationship has been perfect… or so I thought. Once again, I didn’t read a man correctly. Again, I misinterpreted everything.

Dan reaches out and pulls me into a hug. It’s awkward with my arm outstretched to stop my coffee from spilling. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, you’re right. I should have waited. Let’s talk about it tonight.”

Or not at all.I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget the option because I’m not ready for such a commitment. Why do we need to change anything?

I nod and kiss him because my communications skills are worth a pile of shit.

Dan breaks the kiss quickly. “Let’s get ready.”

Leaving my unfinished coffee on the side table, I dive into my overnight bag and lay out my dark blue skirt on the bed. I ironed and hung my white blouse last night. In the bathroom, I try to avoid Dan’s eyes. He seems busy dressing up, but before I disappear, he mutters, “You wouldn’t need the stupid overnight bags.”

It might be meant for him only, but I hear it. The practical comment coils around my stomach and builds my resentment.

What started as a lovely morning with breakfast in bed continues on autopilot with the two of us dancing and side-stepping around each other in a choreography of hurt feelings and annoyance to the score of passive aggressiveness.

“Do you want to grab lunch together?” Dan asks as we enter the elevator.

He is wearing a gray suit that brings out his blue eyes. His light brown hair, longer on the top, is styled to perfection. Instead of his contacts, he pulled out his thick-rimmed glasses today. He’s so handsome and put-together, and right this moment I know deep in my bones I’ll have to break up with him.

“I’m not sure. Will you have time to come over to my neighborhood?” I fidget with my purse, trying to avoid eye contact. Jesus, I should have stayed at my place.

“I’ll be in your neighborhood.” He rubs my arm gently and I almost recoil.

“You will?” That makes no sense. “Why don’t you text me and see how I’m doing?” I should have lunch with him, just to tell him we’re over. I don’t think we can go back to casual after this. His hope for more would hang above our heads and it’s not fair to him, or to me, for that matter.

“I’ll text, and perhaps we can find that broom closet?” he whispers darkly and kisses my temple.

Luckily the elevator stops, and I push out before I’m forced to break up with him right here right now.

* * *

I sit at my desk in the front of the classroom. The doors of the school won’t open for another thirty minutes, but I need a moment to adjust, to get ready, to accept that I’m really committing to something. To believe it’s a good move. In the world I created—one where nothing is permanent—this is a huge step. I’m excited but more anxious.

I open the folder with the list of my students. There is one new girl coming in. It’s good it won’t be just me. I’ve been working here as a long-term sub teacher, but I haven’t taught in this class before.

Normally what the students think of me doesn’t matter. For the most part, they like me. So why am I so worked up? Perhaps I should have blow-dried my hair?

Jesus, it’s eight- and nine-year-old girls. They can be mean at that age already. I groan.

My phone chimes.

Martinis to celebrate the new school year? Love. L.

London might be the only non-parent celebrating the beginning of the school year, but then London finds a reason to party all the time.

I’m about to type “raincheck” when another message comes in from Melissa at the principal’s office.Teacher’s lounge now.

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